


Cause and Effect

by LouLa



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Adultery, Age Difference, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouLa/pseuds/LouLa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every action has a consequence, sometimes it's just not what's expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cause and Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this Twi Kink Fest prompt: http://twikinkfest.tumblr.com/post/12707463449/carlisle-cant-resist-his-attraction-to-his-teenage
> 
> Huge thanks for Mar for betaing.

The weather is unseasonably warm for early October, and the draw of the outdoors is too strong for Carlisle to resist. He lounges in one of the poolside chaises, reading the day's paper while the sun beats down on him. He's already discarded his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and he's considering removing his shoes and socks when his son comes running through the patio door.

He cannonballs into the pool as close to Carlisle as he possibly can, sending splashes of water onto Carlisle's slacks, and when he surfaces, his shakes out his too-long hair wildly, sending droplets of water all the way up to the paper Carlisle's trying to read.

Frowning disapprovingly at his son, he flicks the section of paper aside and grabs a new one. Jasper rolls his eyes and dives back under, yelling for his best friend to _hurry the fu– heck up_ when he comes back up again. Carlisle's second disapproving look doesn't affect him any more than the first had.

"Hi Carlisle," he hears a second before he feels weight settling at the end of the chaise he's sitting on.

Not wanting to be rude, Carlisle refolds his paper and sets it across his lap, sitting up a little straighter to give Riley more room at the end so his hip doesn't have to touch Carlisle's ankle. He gives Riley a small smile, firmly keeps his eyes above neck level, and says, "Hello."

Jasper jumps out of the pool, purposefully shaking more water in Carlisle's direction, before running across the deck to turn on the radio as loud as it can go. He grabs the water polo ball and lobs it in Riley's direction as hard as he can, yelling, "Come on!" and jumps back into the water.

"Can you..." Riley starts to ask, but the music is too loud to hear much of anything.

"What?" Carlisle asks loudly, leaning closer to hear him.

Riley holds out a bottle of sunscreen. "Can you do my back?" he yells above the music.

Oh.

Hesitantly, Carlisle takes the sunscreen from him, sitting up with a leg on either side of the chair. Riley scoots back further, almost between Carlisle's legs. His swimming trunks pull down a little with the movement, exposing far too much of his ass in the process. But he doesn't move to fix them, and Carlisle is suddenly thankful for the horrible music blaring from the speakers that conceals his too-loud breathing.

He squirts the lotion into his hand and carefully rubs it into Riley's shoulders, keeping his eyes up. When he's finished and Riley stays put, he reluctantly gets more lotion and carefully spreads it across Riley's back, going no lower than he feels is necessary. He swears to himself that he's only looking because he _has_ to.

Bringing his hands slowly back up Riley's side, he gives him a quick squeeze on the shoulders and forces out a normal voice, saying, "There, all done."

He acts as if this whole thing isn't in some way affecting him, because it _shouldn't_ be, it _can't_ be, and if he pretends hard enough, he almost believes that it _isn't_. He's had enough practice in the last six months to nearly make himself believe the lie is true, only it really, _really_ isn't.

Riley stands and turns to face Carlisle, thanks him and takes back the sunscreen. His crotch is perfectly eye level, and Carlisle, try as he might, can't help looking, especially not when he can see... But it's just the way the trunks are bunched up from sitting. Carlisle will choose to believe that, because it would be inappropriate to think anything else. He won't allow himself to think about what's underneath, making the fabric strain that way. And anyway, he's just a teenage boy, he probably gets a hard-on over everything. It's not like Carlisle _turned him on_ , not that he's thinking about it.

It's far too hot out all of a sudden ― a choking kind of heat that Carlisle can't stand any longer.

He gathers up his newspaper, throws his jacket over his arm, takes off his reading glasses to wipe the sweat that's beaded up at his brow. He turns down the radio as he heads inside, ignoring his son's loud protests that probably include more than one curse word.

Esme is at the stove, cooking dinner. Carlisle sets his things down before moving to stand behind her, hands placed on her narrow hips. He kisses her cheek, asks about her day.

"Will you finish this, I have..." she replies, dismissing his question and pointing vaguely toward the upstairs. Presumably that's where whatever she has is.

He nods, frowning after her when she picks up his suit jacket and the newspaper, tossing one into the trash and the other on the laundry room floor. He ignores it, trying not to think about the article he was halfway through, or how his jacket will probably end up buried under Jasper's horrible smelling lacrosse uniforms.

"Hi daddy," Rose calls as she goes loping through the kitchen.

"Rosie," he says, stopping her before she can get outside. "Be careful. Your brother and Riley are–" _probably trying to kill each other with a ball_ "playing water polo."

She smiles, carefree as ever, shrugging a shoulder. "Okay."

 _The neighbors are going to complain about that music,_ he thinks as the patio door slides open, and then shut again, drowning out the sound once more.

Carlisle's just sliding garlic bread into the oven when the door opens again, emitting not only the sound of music, but Rose's loud wailing. Letting the oven door slam shut, he crosses the room to find out what's wrong, sees Rosalie's bloody knees and curses to himself.

"What happened?" he asks, and is answered with more crying, garbled words he can't make out, and then sobbing that makes his heart twist. Despite her dripping wet bathing suit, he scoops her up, lets her bury her face into his shoulder.

He carries her outside and angrily unplugs the radio from the wall. "What happened?" he demands, glaring in Jasper's direction.

"It wasn't my fault," he yells. "She was in the way. I told her to move."

Beyond frustrated, he shifts Rosalie to his other hip and fights to keep himself calm. "You are grounded. Dinner is almost ready, get dried off and into the house, now."

He ignores the answering protest, carrying Rose back inside, mentally increasing Jasper's punishment to two weeks when he hears the water polo ball bounce off the patio door behind him.

He's bandaging up Rose's skinned knees when Esme comes in to question him. "I thought you were finishing dinner," she says.

He doesn't bother replying, because _why_ he's not finishing dinner right now should be pretty obvious.

"Why is Jasper grounded?" she asks.

And again, how that's not obvious either is mystifying to Carlisle, though how she knows already is not. Esme just gives a flippant, "I'm sure it was an accident," before walking away.

He grinds his teeth together and forces out a sweet smile for his daughter. He kisses her forehead and picks her up off the bathroom counter, telling her to go get dressed.

Jasper and Riley are milling around the kitchen when Carlisle comes back down. Jasper's dripping water all over the floor, from cupboard to cupboard as he digs through them like dinner won't be on the table in five minutes. Riley at least has the decency to keep a towel around his waist, though he's done a piss poor job of drying himself off too, water still trailing off of his shoulders, down his chest...

Carlisle grabs the burning garlic bread that no one else could be bothered to get out of the oven, dropping the pan onto the counter with a loud clatter.

"You don't have to be such a dick about it," Jasper says, sitting his soaking wet ass into a chair.

"Watch your mouth or it's going to be three weeks," Carlisle replies.

"Three?" Jasper sputters. "You've got to be fuck–"

"I can get a ride home, if you want," Riley cuts in awkwardly, saving Jasper from himself.

"Oh, sweetie, no, that's–" Esme is saying as she walks in.

"I'll give you a ride home after dinner," Carlisle intervenes firmly.

"Boys, will you go get changed, please?" Esme asks. Carlisle forcibly keeps himself from rolling his eyes at her poorly concealed _'get out so I can bitch at your father.'_ The second they're out of the room, she is angrily whispering, "They were supposed to work on homework together tonight."

"Do they have a group project?" Carlisle asks pointedly.

"No, but I don't see what that–"

"Then I think Jasper can manage on his own," Carlisle cuts her off.

Thank God for small favors, that's when Rose walks in and stops Esme before she can even get started.

―

"Sorry about this evening," Carlisle offers as he drives Riley home. "I know you and Jasper had plans but I hope you understand."

Riley nods. "I do. It's not a big deal. I'm sorry too. Rose is pretty cool, I hope she's okay."

Carlisle can't help but smile. "Don't let Jasper hear you say that, he'll never talk to you again."

Riley laughs, then says, "You know, he really didn't _try_ –" and Carlisle stops him right there, because he _knows_ that.

"I know, but he's too rough with her. He needs to learn to be more careful. Our backyard is not the field, Rosie is not one of your teammates, he can't just disregard that." Sighing, he reaches over to squeeze at Riley's shoulder. "Sorry, I'm not trying to take this out on you. It wasn't your fault that Rose got hurt either. But," he continues, holding a little more firmly onto the back of Riley's neck, "I would like to know what happened to that lamp in the living room three weeks ago."

Riley blanches and stiffens under his hand. "I... We– It was– I'm sorry, I wanted to tell you, but–"

Chuckling, Carlisle scratches lightly at the short hair at the back of Riley's neck before pulling his hand away altogether. "I'm just kidding." To avoid the uncomfortable silence that will likely follow, he asks Riley about school, sports, how everything's going.

The truth is that Carlisle perversely enjoys these short minutes alone with his son's best friend, the car rides to and from houses, from school or practice. It's easy to forget how immensely improper and _wrong_ his feelings toward the boy are when it's just the two of them. Riley is good company, sweet and soft, playful but so much less immature than the other boys his age. He's so good looking at fifteen that Carlisle can hardly stand it, can only imagine how he's going to grow up into something even better.

It's easier to not feel guilty about his thoughts when they're alone together.

He pulls up into the driveway at Riley's house and puts the car in park, though he's not staying ― he's not going to do _anything_ besides say goodbye and make sure Riley gets in okay. Riley turns in his seat to face Carlisle, and he has this wide, open smile that makes Carlisle's stomach go tight, makes him want to lean over and kiss him.

It's a horrible, horrible feeling to have when Riley's so close, when it would be so simple to just do it and worry about the consequences later.

Carlisle looks away and clears his throat, shakes himself free of those thoughts. He tells Riley goodbye, wishes him a good evening, and apologizes again.

That smile stays firmly in place as Riley gets out, then turns back around to lean into the car. "Goodnight, Carlisle. Thank you for dinner," he says. He looks down slightly, at Carlisle's white-knuckled grip on the gear shift, then back up with his lip clasped firmly between his teeth. "See you later," he almost-whispers before shutting the door lightly behind him, walking up to the house, casting Carlisle a few parting glances over his shoulder.

Carlisle can't think straight the rest of the night.

―

"Up, boys, time for church," Carlisle says, walking into the room to pick up some of the trash lying around.

Jasper grumbles something ― something that he's lucky his father didn't hear, probably ― and rolls over to go back to sleep. Riley is on the floor next to the bed. He kicks the blanket that covers him down to his feet and stretches, and he's naked except for a pair of briefs ― very, very brief briefs, that leave little to the imagination.

"Morning," Riley says gruffly, arching up slightly in another long stretch.

Carlisle jerks his eyes away, looks absolutely anywhere but at Riley and his ― very minuscule ― underwear, focusing on the fact that Jasper's room is a mess. He thinks about how Jasper should be the one to pick it up, while stuffing his arms full of empty soda cans and discarded wrappers. Pointedly ignoring Riley, he gets everything he can with two hands, makes a mental note to somehow get Jasper to clean his room, _does not once_ look at the boy sprawled mostly-naked across the floor or even think about the horrible-bad-wrong things he wants to do to him.

Then he leaves, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and remembers to yell, "Jasper, now," when he's halfway down the hall.

He'd come home from the grocery store Saturday afternoon to find the two boys yelling at the television set while they played their violent video games. If his son's smug-ass smirk had been anything to go by, he'd begged his mommy to let him off of being grounded, knowing damn well that Carlisle wouldn't be pleased.

When Carlisle asked, Esme just pulled one of her _why must you question everything I do?_ faces and made it very clear that it wasn't Jasper's fault anyway, and he really was _so sorry_. Excuse after excuse about how Jasper was just coming into his own, it wasn't fair to be so hard on him, all things Carlisle's heard before, so he was only half-listening until Riley's name came up, when Esme continued with, " _I couldn't just say no, Carlisle. His birthday is Wednesday, and you know how he likes to be over here."_

One more time, he'd let it slide, and it wasn't as if Carlisle _wanted_ to punish him, but Jasper needed to learn that there were consequences to his actions. He was getting more and more reckless and rebellious with age, and all Esme had to say about it was, "Well, he's a free spirit, and strict parenting never did any good anyway," making Carlisle the sole parent responsible for any and all types of punishment ― also known as 'The Bad Guy.'

He can't even begin to understand how Esme can unquestioningly and constantly undermine everything he says and does, but she succeeds at it quite easily.

Like now, when he's politely asking Jasper to change, because a Black Sabbath t-shirt is not proper church-going attire, and she's talking right over him saying, "Oh, baby, just put a button-up on over it, it'll be fine."

It's so fucking frustrating that Carlisle literally wants to rip his own hair out, or hers ― which he feels bad about immediately after thinking it, but still. He's at the end of his rope. He can understand that they have different opinions on parenting, but he just wishes she would meet him in the middle, or at least try to. Or at the very fucking least, stop subverting him in front of the children. They're supposed to be a team.

No longer hungry, he skips breakfast, escaping up to his office to work away some of his frustration before it's time to leave.

A tentative knock on the door interrupts his stewing.

"Come in," he calls quietly, shuffling papers around his desk.

He doesn't know who he's expecting ― he knows he wants it to be his wife, coming to apologize, but like _that's_ going to happen. And anyway, she wouldn't knock. Only one person would knock, so he shouldn't be so surprised to see Riley leaning quietly back against the closed door, chewing his lip nervously.

Swiveling the chair around to face him, Carlisle asks, "Everything alright?"

Riley nods, pushing away from the door to walk hesitantly toward Carlisle. He doesn't stop until they're close, too close, standing with his knees touching Carlisle's. Carlisle doesn't move; he's a little curious about what this is, a whole lot frightened about what he thinks it might be, undeniably excited at the possibility of getting what he's hoping for.

Riley licks his lips, and Carlisle gulps in response.

He snaps out of it a little when there's a commotion downstairs. Downstairs, where his wife is. Where his kids are.

Christ.

Everything about it is wrong. Riley is ― perfect, gorgeous, so fucking lovely ― too young. _Too young. Too. Fucking. Young._ And Carlisle is married. A father. Twenty years too old for the beautiful boy in front of him. There is nothing right about anything happening between them. No good could come from it.

Carlisle scoots back quickly, stands, and in his haste to get away, knocks his chair against his desk, sending a folder full of files onto the floor. Already flustered, he swears before dropping down to his knees to pick up the papers.

Riley kneels beside him, helps him straighten out the paperwork. He's quiet; he doesn't say anything, and Carlisle can feel the tension between like a lead blanket over his shoulders. But when he looks at Riley, he's perfectly at ease, calmly stacking files one on the other, and Carlisle thinks that maybe it's just him, maybe he's overreacting. Nothing happened, nothing is going to happen. It's _nothing_.

Just as he thinks that, Riley catches him staring and leans in to close the small amount of space between them, pressing the barest of kisses against Carlisle's mouth.

Riley goes right back to picking up files, like nothing even happened. Like it never happened. Carlisle is shocked, and dumbfounded, terrified, pleased, angry, elated. He's feeling everything and nothing all at once, numb with it.

Mind revolting against body, he's thinking, _can't, won't, bad, wrong, no_ while rushing toward Riley, getting his hands on him, finally. _Finally. Want, need, please, more, yes._

Riley gasps against his mouth, but opens right up for his tongue, sucks at it, scrambles closer, gripping at Carlisle's shoulders. Carlisle presses as close as he can get, licking into Riley's mouth, tasting everything inside that he can reach. He slides his hands down Riley's neck, over his arms and across his shoulders, down his narrow waist, his thin hips, grips at his skinny thighs and then at his little ass. He kisses Riley harder as he starts to pant, deep, heavy breaths, his muscles twitching under Carlisle's hold as he tries to push forward, closer, wanting to touch, wanting friction, wanting to fuck.

_No. No. No._

Carlisle leans back fast, leaving Riley falling, hands splayed across Carlisle's chest, mouth red and wet, opening with each quick breath, his eyes dark and searching. Gently, Carlisle pushes him back, gets to his feet, and carefully rearranges the folders on his desk. Riley stands beside him, but Carlisle steps away as soon as he starts to lean closer.

_Just a kid, just a boy. Stupid, stupid mistake. What have I done?_

"Better get downstairs, we're going to be late for church," he says, forcing the words out, nearly choking on the last one.

Church is exactly where Carlisle needs to be right now. Needs to get this behind him, forget about it, forget about Riley, pray for forgiveness, for help, pray away the... whatever this is, the sin, the temptation.

Temptation is exactly what Riley is, the cruelest form of it.

"Wait, wait," Riley says, a hint of desperation in his voice, a frantic edge.

He gets a hold on Carlisle's wrist and stops him from walking away, pulls him back. Carlisle goes too easily, lets Riley turn him right back around ― upside down and inside out and everything backwards and tilted, stilted, can't-make-sense-of-it sideways.

Riley takes his hand and holds it for a second, looking up at Carlisle before he presses Carlisle's palm flat against the fly of his jeans, over the bulge there, curling their fingers together over the thickened length beneath the denim.

Carlisle clenches his jaw against the urge to groan, breathes out calmly through his nose. He doesn't pull back, not yet, not meanly or sharply; he waits, wants to give it just a second and then he'll firmly tell Riley _no_.

Riley talks first. "I think about you all the time," he says. It's not wistful, he doesn't sound like he's in love or heartbroken or in any way slighted, he just sounds frustrated. He sounds like Carlisle feels, like they've already waited so long, why should they keep having to wait, like he knows how good it'll be, how good _they'll_ be, if only they didn't have to wait any longer.

And there's absolutely everything wrong with that thought. They aren't waiting for _anything_ ; there's nothing _to_ wait for. Nothing can happen. Nothing ― else ― will happen. Too much wrong has already been done, just in thought alone, not even counting the kiss, the horrible mistake.

Carlisle hears Rose's voice just seconds before she opens the door. "Dad, it's almost time to go, and Mom said to remind you that– Ri, I thought you were in the bathroom."

Panic is gripping and tearing at his throat, agony and disgust with himself and bone-deep terror all rolled into one. Riley doesn't look any better off, finally as scared as he should have been from the very beginning.

Carlisle thinks about what his daughter may or may not have seen ― his hand in the general vicinity of Riley's crotch ― and he wipes every telling emotion off of his face when he turns toward her.

"He was," Carlisle says. "He got his zipper stuck, needed my help."

"Oh," Rose answer, frowning slightly at Riley. "I hate when that happens."

"What did Mom say?" he prompts, leading her from the room, leaving Riley to do whatever it is he needs to do ― pull himself together, or sneak out, or figure out how to tell Carlisle's wife what a sick, perverted man he is.

Let the chips fall where they may, Carlisle would deal with whatever came of this. He made a mistake and he would suffer the consequences.

―

Riley is quiet in the backseat of the SUV, Rosalie between him and Jasper. Rose is singing along with the radio, and Jasper is screwing around with his phone, Carlisle can see in the rear-view mirror. Esme is chattering on about something, he doesn't know what. But Riley is silent, staring out the window. Carlisle is sick with guilt, shame.

"Dude, what is your problem?" Jasper asks dubiously, punching at his friend's shoulder.

Carlisle grips the steering wheel tighter, keeps his eyes firmly on the road ahead.

"Just tired," Riley says.

Jasper snorts at that. "Whatever, at least I don't have to suffer alone."

"He's lying," Rose singsongs in a superior tone.

Carlisle nearly misses their turn, gritting his teeth with nerves.

"He's just _embarrassed_ ," Rosalie continues. "He got his zipper stuck and Dad had to help him."

"That's what took you so long in the bathroom? You're such a loser," Jasper says, laughing at Riley while Rose giggles along.

"Rose, that wasn't nice. You shouldn't have told everyone, now he's just more embarrassed," Esme reprimands.

"It's okay," Riley says, chuckling along good-naturedly at the blatant lie. "Carlisle helped me out."

Carlisle meets Riley's eyes in the rear-view mirror, releasing a stuttering breath. Something in his chest loosens at Riley's soft, secret smile, some of the panic, maybe, but it doesn't help him to feel any better.

He pulls into an empty parking space, barely making it to the church without having to pull over to throw up. Everyone piles out of the car, while Carlisle leans forward to rest his pounding head against the steering wheel.

Esme knocks sharply on his window, pointing at her watch when he looks up. He drags himself from the car, taking a deep breath of cool air.

"Are you okay? You don't look so good," she says as he walks beside her toward the church.

"I'll be fine," he answers.

"You didn't eat any breakfast, maybe you should grab a donut or something."

He nods, walking in the opposite direction of his wife once they're inside, taking a stack of programs from Ms. Cope and handing them out, greeting everyone he knows with a slightly stiff smile.

Somehow, he ends up sitting next to Riley in the packed pews, sharing a book of hymnals while Jasper attempts to covertly text through the service with his cell phone wedged between his knees. Carlisle lets it go until Jasper starts jostling Riley into his side. They're already pressed shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, and Jasper kicking at him to amuse himself is making it even more difficult to sit comfortably.

Leaning around Riley, he snaps out a quiet, "Give it to me," holding his hand out expectantly.

He ignores Jasper's haughty glare, Riley's warm breath puffing against the side of his neck. Jasper finally hands over his phone with an annoyed huff, and the rest of the service passes quietly enough, though Carlisle's attention span is appalling.

The warm weight of Riley pressed against his side is distracting. He's all Carlisle can think about ― this morning, sprawled across the floor, sleep-mussed hair and a tired pout, the lean, delicate line of his body, and those goddamn underwear; and in Carlisle's office, the taste of him, the feel of him so close, in Carlisle's arms, gasping for breath and pushing closer, _closer_ , so hard already; and in the future, how he'd taste in other places, how smooth his skin would feel, how warm he would be inside, and the sounds he would make when he came.

Carlisle doesn't hear a word of the sermon.

―

Nearly a week later, Carlisle is at home, trying to get some work done for once, rather than answering phone calls and replying to emails, when the doorbell rings.

He's elbow deep in paperwork, and honestly, he could use a break, but the thought of losing what little progress he's made by walking away is daunting.

Sighing, he stands, trying to arrange the documents in an orderly fashion so he can come back to them and pick up exactly where he left off.

There's an impatient knock, and he trots down the stairs, calling, "Coming, coming."

Any thoughts of getting back to work are dashed when he opens the door and finds Riley standing there.

"Hey, Carlisle" Riley says, smiling slightly.

Despite the few days of reprieve from the boy, Carlisle finds himself no less comfortable in Riley's presence. If anything, the week of separation has made it worse. Just one look at him, and Carlisle's throat's gone dry, palms sweaty, mind clogged with _want, need_ and _no, can't._

"Jasper," he croaks, pausing to clear his throat. "Jasper," he starts again, "isn't here."

"I know that," Riley willingly admits.

The house is gloriously empty, Riley is standing on Carlisle's front steps waiting for an invitation in, presumably with a devious plan to seduce Carlisle, and Carlisle has no choice but to say no.

There is a choice, of course there is, but going down that path ― even the thought of picking that option scares the hell out of Carlisle. He has too much to lose, everything, his whole life. And for what? One measly fuck? One measly fuck with this gorgeous, sweet boy ― a boy that he rightly shouldn't even want, shouldn't be given the option to _have_ , too young, too innocent, too perfectly beautiful for one measly fuck with an old, married man.

"Riley..." he starts warily.

Riley just curls his lips sadly in response and nods. It makes Carlisle miss that bright, open smile, makes him hate himself, even though he _knows_ he's doing the right thing, for both of them, by saying no.

"I forgot my iPod in Jasper's room when I stayed last weekend. Can I come in and get it? Then I'll go, if that's what you want."

Carlisle swings the door open wide, nodding.

"Thanks," Riley says, walking past him towards the stairs. Carlisle watches him go up, tries to resist the urge to really _watch_ the way his body moves, under those tight jeans, the equally tight shirt that rides up a bit to reveal a sliver of pale skin at his lower back ― and fails miserably, of course.

Carlisle snaps himself out of it, jogs up the stairs after him. "Can you show yourself out?"

Riley nods his answer, turning to head down the hall to Jasper's bedroom. Carlisle goes the opposite direction, escaping back into his office. He sighs quietly to himself at the grim sight of his messy desk, sliding into the chair and slipping his glasses back into place.

Riley knocks just minutes later, a gentle rasp of knuckles before the door quietly clicks open, and then snicks shut. Carlisle swivels his chair around to face the boy, determined to behave in a professional manner.

Riley clenches his jaw tightly, fisting his hands at his sides. He exhales loudly and rolls his shoulders back, meeting Carlisle's eyes firmly. "All I want to say is that you don't have to worry about anything. I don't want things to be awkward, and I don't want you to worry that I'm going to tell anyone. I'll keep my mouth shut. So, that's all."

"Riley," Carlisle says, stopping him before he can go. He removes his glasses again, pinching lightly at the bridge of his nose in an attempt to quell off the frustration he feels. "I want you to know how sorry I am."

"You don't have to apologize. I don't _want_ you to apologize," Riley is saying.

"Regardless," Carlisle continues, talking over him. "I still need you to understand that what I did was wrong, and it shouldn't have happened. I am so sorry–"

"No you're not," Riley cuts in sharply. "You wanted it as much as I did–"

"That doesn't make it okay–"

"So don't sit there and act like you wouldn't do it again!" Riley all but yells.

"I'm sorry," Carlisle mutters helplessly, not knowing what else to say. It feels like the only thing he _can_ say at this point.

"Sure you are. So tell me to stop, Carlisle. Say, 'no, I don't want this.' If you're really sorry then tell me you don't want me," Riley says firmly, stepping in close, his knees touching Carlisle's.

Breathing out harshly, Carlisle watches Riley smoothly sink onto his lap, straddling him. He leans forward, mouth so close that Carlisle can almost _taste_ it.

"Say it," Riley urges, palms flat against Carlisle's chest.

He can't. He can't say anything. He's frozen there, mind and body all locked up with Riley so close. _Want. Want. Want,_ coursing through his head.

"You don't have to lie to me, Carlisle," Riley whispers, breath and lips brushing, tickling at his jaw.

"Riley," he grunts from behind his teeth.

Riley presses forward, right up against Carlisle's stomach, and Carlisle can feel him there, hard behind his zipper. He shifts uncomfortably in the chair, feeling himself start react to the steady pressure against his lap. Riley grinds down against him, working his hands up to Carlisle's neck, and then into his hair, curling his fingers into it, pulling slightly.

"Don't lie to me," he whispers raggedly, knocking their hips together as best as he can from where he's sitting.

Carlisle stands abruptly, startling a gasp out of Riley, throwing him off balance, sideways. But Carlisle catches him, takes two steps forward to set him down on the paper-strewn desk, and leans in to crush their lips together.

Riley's hold on Carlisle's hair tightens while his legs lock around Carlisle's hips, keeping him in place ― like there's any chance in hell Carlisle will be able to pull away now, to stop this.

Carlisle pushes him back roughly, laying him down flat against the desk, and just stares for a second. Riley arches his hips up, pushing up against Carlisle's wrist, and Carlisle's never seen anything so sexy in his whole fucking life as this boy, spread out on his desk, slick, bruised lips parted, eyes dark and heavy with lust, thighs spread and wrapped around Carlisle's hips.

Carlisle slides his hand down lower, over the prominent bulge in Riley's jeans, feels the heat of it against his palm and rubs at it, listening to Riley punch out these quiet little moans at the small amount of friction.

God...

He shoves Riley's shirt up with his free hand, leaning over him to lick and suck at his flat, smooth stomach. Palming the sharp juts of his hipbones, he holds him still as he works his way higher, up to his ribs. Sliding rough palms up Riley's sides, he yanks the shirt off over his head, and goes back to it, licking around his nipples, sucking red marks into his pale skin. He pushes Riley's hands above his head when he tries to pull at Carlisle's hair again.

At that, Riley whimpers, hips arching up sharply to rub himself against Carlisle's stomach. Carlisle stands up straight, pausing once again to just look at him. He looks filthy, debauched, and it makes Carlisle feel equal parts proud and ashamed for being the one to make him look that way.

Riley sits up, pushing at Carlisle's shirt, forcing it up over his head. His eyes wander over Carlisle's chest, his stomach. He scratches curiously at Carlisle's chest hair, looks up at him uncertainly before leaning in to kiss a nipple, swirl his tongue around it, and Carlisle holds him there, a cupped hand against the back of his head ― it's been so long since anyone's paid any attention at all to his nipples, feels even better than he remembers to have a mouth there.

When Carlisle reaches between them to open Riley's pants, Riley pulls away, leaning back onto his elbows, giving Carlisle better access to his fly. Carlisle expects to just strip him of his jeans, give him a little room to breathe, so to speak, but when he peels the jeans off of his hips, Riley's cock lays exposed against his stomach, curved up, flushed dark and swollen. Carlisle pulls his pants off the rest of the way, and Riley plants his heels up on the desk, knees spread, shamelessly revealing himself in a way only someone so young can.

"I'm not a virgin," Riley says, breaking the silence between them.

"I didn't want to know," Carlisle mutters in reply.

Riley, already flushed, darkens further. "I– Sorry, I just didn't want you to worry about that."

Carlisle nods. He had been worried about that, but either answer was going to bother him. If he was a virgin, Carlisle would have felt ridiculously guilty for being his first, but finding out he isn't, it just pisses him off. It's not that someone else got to have him first, but that he's so young and already lost his virginity.

"It was before we moved here, my boyfriend back home," Riley whispers, sounding unsure if he should still be talking or not.

Carlisle nods once more, feeling better now that he knows it was at least someone he cared about, but still...

"Was he any good?" Carlisle asks, mostly jokingly.

Riley smiles, fond and real. "Not really," he laughs. "Not that I have anything to compare it to," he adds quickly, licking his lips nervously.

"It's okay," Carlisle assures him. He braces a hand on either side of Riley's head and leans over to kiss him, dipping his tongue into Riley's mouth when he gasps at his cock getting caught between their stomachs. "What do you want?" he asks after breaking the kiss.

"Anything. I don't care, just anything, please," Riley says breathlessly, then helplessly gasps, "I want you to fuck me," like an afterthought.

Smiling, Carlisle kisses his way down Riley's body, lapping away the sticky trail of pre-come smeared below his belly button. From there, he drops lower, licking at the skin pulled tight over Riley's balls and mouthing his way up his straining cock, watching his belly rise and fall sharply with every stuttering pull of breath.

He sucks Riley's cock into his mouth, taking it in as far as he can, breathing steadily through his nose and holding it there, feeling the shape of it, the pulse beating against his tongue as his mouth waters, the taste of pre-come mingling with spit. He pulls off to swallow, sucking just the tip back inside, licking around it and fighting back a laugh when Riley grabs his hair and forcibly attempts to shove him back down. He lets Riley's cock fall back against his stomach, fixing him with a sharp look as he grabs Riley's wrists and pushes them down against the wood beneath him.

Carlisle reaches behind himself for the chair and pulls it up, sitting down between Riley's parted knees. He slides Riley's ass to the edge of the desk, knocking full folders of files to the floor and kicking them aside carelessly. He pops the button on his jeans and reaches his hand inside, giving himself some relief as he goes back down on Riley.

After only a few short minutes, Carlisle is in full swing, remembering all the tricks of how to suck a cock, and Riley has his head thrown back, mouth open around constant moans. He hasn't come yet, and Carlisle doesn't plan on letting him.

One particularly throaty grunt, a pointed thrust of hips, and a thick blurt of salty pre-come later, Carlisle pulls off, leaving Riley writhing against air, whining pitifully for a few long moments until Carlisle grips him behind the knees and exposes him further.

Carlisle licks him from tailbone to balls and back, pausing only for a second to feel the flutter of muscle against his tongue as he mouths at his tight hole.

"Oh," Riley chokes out, hands slapping loudly against the wall as he pushes himself harder to Carlisle's mouth any way that he can.

Once he's wet, looser, Carlisle works his tongue inside, feeling Riley relax and open up for him. He fucks into him like that as much as he can, until his jaw is sore from it.

He wipes his mouth and stands, kicking his jeans off the rest of the way. It's unfair, maybe, to ask someone in such a state to answer a serious question, but in the end, Carlisle's not in his right mind either. "Are you sure you want this?" he asks Riley, to which he receives dazed nod.

"Please, yes. I want it now," he says.

Carlisle opens up a filing cabinet, the drawer at the bottom, furthest to the right, and grabs the bottle of lube from there and a condom off the roll of them, kicking it closed before he can even think about what else he hides in there. Riley's too far gone to have noticed Carlisle's Extra Confidential file, where he hides the paperwork for the highest end clients, among other things.

Standing at the edge of the desk, he coats his fingers with lube, then wraps Riley's legs around him, one at his waist, the other over his shoulder. Riley nods encouragingly at Carlisle's questioning look, and with that, Carlisle presses a fingertip against his hole, carefully sliding inside. Riley breathes out raggedly, pulling Carlisle in closer with his legs, and Carlisle crooks a second finger against the first, feeling Riley stretch around him.

It's a tight fit, and he nearly groans at the thought of how Riley's going to feel around his cock. Sliding in as deep as he can reach, he twists his fingers, working him open and slicking him up. Riley groans at the push of a third finger, and Carlisle pauses once it's inside, letting him calm down again before continuing. It doesn't take long for him to take all three, pressing himself wantonly against Carlisle in search of more.

Carlisle grabs the condom and rolls it on, slicking himself up before pressing his cock right alongside where his fingers are buried in Riley. He slides them free slowly, pushes his cock into the grasping heat, moaning right along with Riley at the sensation.

He brings Riley's leg down off of his shoulder, grasps both of his thighs in his hands as he slowly starts to thrust, eyes keenly taking in every last one of Riley's reactions.

He's speechless and breathless, bright red from cheekbones to collarbones, sweating and senselessly moving into whatever feels good. It's... unbelievable. Carlisle can't remember the last time he's had sex like this, in this filthy way, out in the open with the lights on and not a care in the world. It's reckless and freeing, dirty and wrong, but so, so good that he can't even think of regretting it. Not with Riley beneath him, gasping out his name like he can't get enough of it.

Carlisle is convinced that this is the best thing in the world, that he could do this forever and not feel ashamed of it. It doesn't feel like he's cheating or breaking any rules or doing anything _bad_ when he's thrusting into Riley's willing body over and over. And that is exactly what should be his first warning that he's in too deep, making a horrible mistake, but he isn't thinking about anything besides how _good_ it makes him feel.

He lets Riley's legs go, dropping down over him as he gets closer, feeling Riley arch himself up into it. He pants into Riley's neck, licking at his sweaty-salty skin before kissing him.

"Please," Riley begs. "Please, I need to... I can't– Carlisle, I have to." His hand fits between their bodies, and he moans, guttural and wild. "I'm going to–"

Just like that, he brings himself off, clinging tighter and tighter to Carlisle with every pulse, shuddering with it. Carlisle watches him lose it between their bodies, spurting clear up to his chest and dribbling the last of it over his belly, and goes off inside of him at the sight.

Spent, he stays there bent over Riley for a few long minutes while they both catch their breath, the air cooling their sweaty skin.

Carlisle uses tissues to clean them both up, helps Riley get to his feet, and peels away the papers that have stuck to his skin.

After they've dressed, Carlisle expects it to get awkward, neither of them knowing what to say or do, but Riley just steps in close and presses a kiss to Carlisle's mouth.

"See you later," he says calmly.

And _that_ is exactly the problem.


End file.
